Wounded Kiss (To Be Claimed 1)

And that’s how I ended up here.

The size of this “office” is ridiculous. It’s larger than our entire apartment. I’m in awe of the sheer size and luxury of the werewolves’ estate. I assumed werewolves lived in the woods, hunting down animals in their wolf form and basically behaving like savages. If it wasn’t for their large frames and silver eyes, I’d have had no idea that these men were anything other than human. Not that I’d ever met a werewolf before. But I’d always imagined them to be … primitive. And nothing about them or this place is primitive.

If what Jude and Lev said is true, we’re going to be fine. I keep reminding myself of that. But their version of fine and my version may be very different and I still don’t know why they took us. The thought makes my eyes narrow. I don’t like being kept in the dark.

“Why are we here?” My grip tightens on the armrests of the freshly oiled leather wingback chair. Every inch of my body is tight with worry and something else … something I cannot control. It’s him. He’s doing it to me and I hate him for it.

“I asked you a question first. Please answer it.” I lift my head and square my shoulders, speaking calmly and politely, but with authority. His expressionless face gives nothing away. He sits back in his seat, letting his hand fall to the desk and taps rhythmically with his deft fingers as if he’s waiting for something.

What do I know of werewolves? “Very little.”

“Your tone leaves much to be desired.” He slowly rises from his seat and stalks over to me. Standing directly in front of my chair, he leans against the desk as if it’s a casual gesture but this close, his presence is suffocating. “That’s something we need to work on, Grace.” Just being this close to him is overwhelming and I shift in my seat as he crosses his arms. I love the way my name rolls off his tongue, although the fact that I love it makes me feel anxious.

I’m uncomfortable because I feel … I feel … I don’t want to say it. Shame heats every inch of me. I shouldn’t be feeling this at ease with him. I sure as hell shouldn’t be fantasizing about him. Everything about this is just … off. Once again, I question if I’ve been drugged. I can’t look him in the eyes. I try to, but I can’t bring myself to carry through with the movement.

“There’s plenty we need to work on,” I respond, more menacingly than I’d like.

“I have to admit that I love your smart mouth,” he states as he uncrosses his powerful arms and takes my chin in his hand, forcing me to look at him. Instantly, another pulse of desire races through me. His silver eyes mesmerize me. He rubs his thumb across my bottom lip and my body betrays me by sending a hot surge of need to my core. “Although I enjoy your boldness, you aren’t permitted to speak to me like that in front of the pack. Is that understood?”

I nod my head as best I can with his hand still holding my chin. Although my head is clouded and it takes me much longer than it should for me to comprehend what I’ve just agreed to.

“Speak, Grace.” Anger courses through me at the command and I rip my head away from his grasp. I don’t care if I piss him off; I refuse to let him talk to me like that.

Blinking away the haze, I reprimand him by saying, “I’m not a dog!” I raise my voice in anger and stare straight into his heated gaze. He raises his brows in surprise.

“I didn’t think you were.” The light in his eyes dims and he crosses his arms again, stretching the gray Henley he’s wearing until it’s taut, making his delectable, chiseled chest all the more visible. “When I ask you a question, I’d like you to answer me verbally.” I nod my head while I stare at the desk, avoiding his scrutiny once again. I can’t stand looking him in the eyes. It’s as if I lose myself when I do.

After a moment of silence, I glance up at him, but not directly into his gaze. His eyes are narrowed and his lips are pressed firmly against one another, forming a hard line.

“I understand.” I do my best to keep the agitation out of my voice.

“Good. Don’t speak to me like that in front of the pack.” His hard, absolute tone makes me feel insignificant. For some reason it also makes my heart clench in agony.

Still staring at the desk, I respond dully, “I won’t.”

There’s movement in my periphery, but I don’t bother to look at him. I need all of my energy to calm down. Now that we’re in here alone, my emotions are off the damn charts. I’m exhausted and inexplicably … sexually frustrated. I’m angry that he’s talking down to me. I’m upset that I’ve been taken from the life I worked so hard to finally have. I feel like a shit friend for leaving Lizzie and every time I think about her, all I can see is her wounded gaze from the back seat of that car. It’s all hitting me at once and it’s on the verge of being unbearable.